


He Who Mounts The World: a Khal Drogo quasi-SI

by The_Changamire



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Because I was born into this world, Discount-Mongols doing Mongol Things, Dothraki, Dothraki Culture, F/M, For Want of a Nail, I'll edit the tags later, Khal Drogo Lives, Self-Insert, Steppe culture, The Dothraki Sea (ASoIaF), The Great Khalasar, The Stallion That Mounts The World, Why?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28380669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Changamire/pseuds/The_Changamire
Summary: “Who is he?” Daenarys asked. “Who is he, this Khal I am to marry?”“He goes by many names,” Illyrio spoke. “The Stallion. He Who Mounts The World. Khal of Khals. Scourge of Gods. And yet, like most men, he was born with one name.He is Drogo, and he is the man that will win you back your throne.”
Comments: 14
Kudos: 81





	1. The Prince Is Riding

Though her tongue screamed for her to gag, repent, spit out the iron fluid that flooded her throat, Ithi refused to heed its call. She would be called weak by none. She was  _ khaleesi _ to Khal Ruarro, He Who Rides With The Wind. Ithi would not shame her husband. She would not disgrace her yet-unborn child.

So Ithi continued on, slowly devouring the once-beating heart of a stallion, unrelenting and unfaltering. Before her, both the  _ Dosh Khaleen _ and her Khal watched as she consumed the heart, and the _khaleesi_ could see within the eyes of her husband that he prayed for her, and is strengthened her heart and hardened her tongue.

And then there was naught but blood and entrails in her hand, the stallion’s heart having gone to join her unborn in her womb. Standing from where she had knelt, Ithi looked to the  _ Dosh Khaleen _ and awaited their judgement. Ithi opened her mouth to ask what her Khal demanded of her--

\--only to stop as she felt the babe kick.

_ “Khalakka dothrae mr’anha, _ ” she whispered, and Ruarro strode to her side at once, concern in his dark eyes.

The _ Dosh Khaleen _ halted their murmurs and turned their full attention on her, gazes filled with curiosity and mild suspicion. One of the crones, the High Priestess, shuffled forward to inspect Ithi’s stomach only to rear back in surprise, then awe.

The crone stood silent for a moment, before raising her hands to the skys.  _ "Khalakka dothrae!”  _ the crone shrieked for all to hear. “The prince is riding!” 

The bustle of Vaes Dothrak slowly began to recede as the Dothraki present watched as the Dosh Khaleen did what had never been done, only prophesied for centuries. The other crones crept forward as well, reverence in their eyes, and beheld Ithi appraisingly. 

" _ Rakh! Rakh! Rakh haj! _ " they proclaimed, and around them, Vaes Dothrak took up the cry. Slaves, warriors, screamers, Bloodriders, Khals, even Ruarro himself.

All threw their arms up in euphoria.

_ " Rakh! Rakh! Rakh haj! RAKH! RAKH! RAKH HAJ!!!  _ **_RAKH! RAKH! RAKH HAJ!!!_ ** _ ” _

The prince was riding.

The Stallion was approaching.

And Ithi screamed.

“He rides! A Prince rides within me-- and he shall be known to all the _Uniter_ _! Unifier of Khals! Burner of Cities! Trampler of Nations! Scourge of Gods! He With the Ashen Horse! _

_ "HE WHO RIDES WITH A MILLION WARRIORS!!! HE WHO BRINGS THE END OF DAYS!!! _

**_"HE IS DROGO, THE STALLION WHO MOUNTS THE WORLD!!!”_ **

* * *

_**Prologue** _

* * *

She had been living in the manse for nearly a year, yet Daenerys still found Pentos as beautiful as the day she had first seen it. Whether during the Hour of the Wolf when the stars shone the brightest or in the middle of a day such as this one, Pentos seemed to gleam with wealth and prosperity--at least, within the bubble Daenerys had the grace to live in thanks to Illyrio.

Yes, Pentos was indeed beautiful. Had she not longed for a home she could remember little about, or the house with the lemon tree and the red door, she might have found comfort in the sight of the city.

Only, now the skyline was yet another reminder to her. For here it would remain, while she would not.

_ “Daenerys!” _

Flinching slightly at the abrupt appearance of her brother’s voice, Daenerys remained where she stood as she waited for Viserys to approach her, and that he did, striding over towards her with something wrapped around his arms. Catching sight of her, Viserys smiled, the same smile that always unnerved Daenerys whenever it was directed at her, and walked over to her. “Daenerys, dear sister! There’s our bride-to-be!”

Moving from her spot in the sun to meet her brother, Daenerys left the balcony and approached him, if not for the curiosity of what it was he held. “Look, a gift from Illyrio, for the wedding.”

It was a wedding dress made of fine silk, and Daenerys knew that it had probably cost more to make than anything else she had worn in her life.  _ Yet another gift from the Cheesemonger… _ While Illyrio had been quite nice to her and her brother since their arrival to his manse, Daenerys wondered what the man’s true motivations were. He had asked nothing of them, yet aided them without hesitation. Why?

Putting the thought aside for later examination, Daenerys suddenly realized that Viserys had held out the dress for her. “Touch it,” Viserys seemed to command of her. “Come on. Feel the fabric.”

Doing so, she found that the dress was just as soft as she had imagined it would be, and Daenerys smile softly.  _ Thank you, Illyrio.  _ She would enjoy wearing this.

Even if she would not enjoy why.

In front of her, Viserys hummed approvingly. “Mm. Isn’t he a gracious host, dear sister?”

Daenerys nodded at that, though once again her mind trailed back to her earlier thoughts on the Cheesemonger, and she decided to ask Viserys his thoughts.

“We’ve been his guest for over a year… but he has never asked us for anything. Why is that, Viserys?”

Her brother smirked knowingly, as if privy to a secret Daenerys was not. “Illyrio is no fool. He knows I will not forget my friend when I sit upon my throne, and he is right to think so.” Handing away the dress to a nearby handmaiden, Viserys’ gaze suddenly hardened as his eyes raked over her body. “You still slouch. Let them see.” Parting her hair and beginning to undo the straps of her current dress, Viserys’ smile turned darker. “You have a woman’s body now, Daenerys. It would be a shame to hide it from your husband-to-be.”

Letting Daenerys’ gown fall to the floor, Viserys’ hands began to roam across her upper body, and Daenerys barely held back a shudder of revulsion. Thankfully, he seemed to stop before too long, pulling back. “I need you to be perfect today, little sister. Can you fo that for me?”

She wanted to say no. She wanted to step away from her brother, ask him to stop, plead him to not marry her to some horselord she had never met in her life.

All Daenerys did was nod.

Viserys smiled again. “Good, good. You wouldn’t want to wake the Dragon, would you?”

“N-no,” the girl shook her head, and silently thanked the gods when her brother nodded and turned to leave. Just before exiting, however, he turned back.

“When they write the history of my reign, sweet sister” Viserys proclaimed, “they will say it began today.”

When at last he had left her alone, Daenerys rushed to the baths, wanting to scrape away the filth she felt after the encounter. Though the servants warned her of its heat, she lowered herself in regardless, and found no problem with it.

_ Alls the more better to cleanse myself. _

From the sweat she had accumulated standing in the sun, or from the revulsion of her brother’s lecherous roaming, she did not know.

Reaching for the brush, Daenerys began to scrub.

* * *

Having washed and cleaned herself to a presentable level, Daenerys donned the dress Illyrio had gifted her and strode out of her room to join both the Cheesemonger and her brother at the doors of the manse, though she slowed her arrival as much as possible.

She was to meet her husband today, a man she knew almost nothing about. Daenerys pledged to ask Illyrio about her betrothed upon seeing him.

Finally joining Viserys, Illyrio, and his household outside the doors, Daenerys saw her brother waiting impatiently, looking to the dirt path that led to the rest of the city. She too cast the road a look, nervously listening for the sound of hooves on earth that would herald her husband-to-be’s arrival.

“Where is he?” Viserys asked, casting Illyrio a troubled look, but the Cheesemonger only shrugged. “The Dothraki are not known for their punctuality. Not even this one.”

At that, Daenerys turned to Illyrio, finding herself wanting to know more. “What is he like, this man?” she asked, and Illyrio hummed in thought. “There are many names for the Khal, princess, depending on the khalasar you ask. Some call him mad. Others call him heretic, or coward. Even more call him weak, unworthy of the Khal to his name-- although, to his credit, those who call him such to his face rarely live for long afterwards.”

Daenerys’ apprehension grew slightly. “The Khal is a great warrior, then? A brute?” Gods help her, that did not sound like a man she wished to marry.

Thankfully, Illyrio shook his head. “While he is indeed a warrior of great reputation, for he has never been defeated on the battlefield, he is no barbarian by any account, Princess Daenerys. His people love him, that much is agreed throughout the steppe. To live under him is to live a good life. Stable food income, homes to protect them from the elements, and warriors to protect those homes and livelihoods. The Khal rides with at the very least fifty-thousand to his name, not counting the many non-Dothraki he has incorporated into his  _ khalasar _ . They do not ride, but they fight nonetheless.”

“Who is he?” Daenarys asked. “Who is he, this Khal I am to marry?”

“He goes by many names,” Illyrio spoke. “The Stallion. He Who Mounts The World. Khal of Khals. Scourge of the Gods. And yet, like most men, he was born with one name.

He is Drogo, and he is the man that will win you back your brother’s throne.”

Daenerys wanted to ask more of what Illyrio knew about Khal Drogo, only for the dreaded hoofbeats that she had been searching for to finally make themselves heard, and she turned to face the road.

Several moments passed before the Dothraki finally appeared, and Daenerys instantly singled out the man that could only be Khal Drogo-- board-shouldered and muscular, hair dark and long, interwoven with small, silver bells. Oddly enough, there was someone else riding besides him that looked somewhat out of place besides the Dothraki warriors; a boy that looked to be of her age, with the same copper skin and dark hair of the other horselords. The boy rode slightly behind the Khal but in front of the other riders.  _ A younger brother, mayhaps? _

Just as they reached the courtyard and stopped, Illyrio moved to great them, speaking words in what must have been the Dothraki tongue before switching back to the Common one. “May I present my honoured guests; Viserys of House Targaryen; the Third of His Name, rightful King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and the First Men, and his sister Daenerys of the House Targaryen.” 

Continuing to speak to them in their guttural tongue, Illyrio left the Targyens to their devices, and so caught up in attempting to study her future husband (and the boy that rode besides him, for he peaked her curiosity) Daenerys flinched backwards in surprise when Viserys grabbed her wrist. 

“Do you see how long his hair is?” he asked, though waiting not for an answer. “When Dothraki are defeated in combat, they cut off their braid so the who world can see their shame. Khal Drogo has never been bested. He’s a savage, of course, no matter what Illyrio says, but he’s one of the finest killers alive. And you will be his queen.”

Releasing her, Viserys stood back, and Daenerys threw up a mask to hide her discomfort at…  _ everything _ at the moment, and not a moment too soon, for Illyrio had finished placating the Khal and had turned to her. “Princess. Come forward, my dear.”

And, though she did not want to, Daenerys did as Illyrio asked, stepping forward slowly towards the Khal and his riders. As she did she noticed that the Khal had turned slightly to speak to the boy beside him in hushed tones before turning back to her with a blank expression, in stark contrast to the fear Daenerys knew she had displayed.

The boy, on the other hand, flashed a small, reassuring smile, and Daenerys was thankful for it, feeling her fear abate slightly and her curiosity heighten.

_ Who are you? _

The Khal and his brother(?) eyed her for a few moments longer before abruptly wheeling their steeds away and riding off, followed by their warriors. As he did so, Viserys approached for the steps, just as confused as Daenerys herself was. “Where’s he going?”

“The ceremony is over,” Illyrio replied, and Viserys stared. “But… he didn’t say anything. Did he like her?”

The Cheesemonger turned to Viserys with a knowing look on his face. “Trust me, Your Grace-- if he didn’t like her, we’d know.” The three left the courtyard, and the magister walked over to a nearby overlook and gazed beyond it, out into the lands beyond Pentos.

“It won’t be long now, Your Grace.” Illyrio took a sip of chilled wine. “Soon you will cross the Narrow Sea and take back your father’s throne. The people drink secret toasts to your health. They cry out for their true king.”

Viserys nodded at that, also taking in the view. “When are they to be married?”

“Soon, my King,” Illyrio replied. “As soon as they return to the Dothraki Sea, the Khal and your sister will wed.”

The elder Targaryen hummed at that, before looking back in the directions the Dothraki had ridden off in. “Is it true they lie with their horses?”

Daenerys flinched at that, yet another reminder of whom she was to be married off to.  _ Like cattle to be bartered to the highest bidder. _

“That is not a question I would ask Khal Drogo,” Illyrio advised instantly, and Viserys scowled. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“I took you for a King. Kings lack the caution of common men. My apologies if I’ve given offense.”

Viserys sighed, waving the issue aside. “Worry not, magister. I know how to play a man like Drogo-- I give him a queen and he gives me an army--”

“I don’t want to be his queen.”

The two men stopped at her voice and turned to her, though Daenerys stood her ground in this. Maybe, _ maybe _ , if she pleaded her case, her brother might release her of this, find some other way--  _ any _ other way-- to return them to their birthplace. “I just want to go home,” she murmured, but Viserys sighed, obviously annoyed. “So do I. I want us  _ both _ to go home. But the Usurper and his dogs took it from us. So tell me, dear sister;  _ how _ do we go home?”

When he received no reply from the cowed princess, Viserys continued. “We go home with an army-- Khal Drogo’s army. And I would let his whole tribe fuck you, all fifty-thousand of his men and their horses, if that is what it took.”

With that statement made, Viserys gave Daenerys a kiss to the temple before striding away, followed by Illyrio, and she was left to wallow in her approaching fate.

But though she despaired, Daenerys shed no tears.

_ Dragons do not cry _ .

* * *

“That is the girl I am to marry,  _ Ave _ ?”

The Dothraki had returned to their camp outside of the city walls, and for that, Müje was glad. He had found the city within the walls far too crowded than what he had grown up with, with little-to-no space dedicated for those who rode. It had been a knew, exciting experience for him, to witness the city walls, though his father had remained tightlipped as to why Müje was accompanying him this far out of the Great Grass Sea until halfway though the journey.

“That is indeed the girl you will marry,” Müje’s father nodded. “Though, I do believe that they are under the impression that I am to wed her.” Drogo chuckled. “As if your mother would let me live if I did so.”

Müje laughed. “ _ Mai _ would be livid, yes.”

The  _ khalakka  _ fell into a thoughtful silence, and Drogo watched his son carefully. “...Müje, what do you think of her? Daenerys Targaryen.”

Müje thought on the question for a moment, before shrugging. “I am not sure, father. Will I have time to get to know her?”

“Of course, my son,” Drogo nodded instantly, “I would not wed you to a woman who would make you miserable. Should you decide to marry, you shall do so when we return to  Vaes Athjikhari. If I have you married here without your  _ Mai _ , she will most certainly feed me to the vultures.” He paused for a moment, before asking another question. “Do you at least see her as a beauty?”

“...Yes, I think so,”  Müje answered. “She is comely. I would not mind taking her to bed.”

Drogo nodded. “Good.” Then the Khal stood from his seat. “It is time to return, Müje. They have finished speaking. Let us go retrieve your bride.”


	2. Prologue II

Never before had a seat been so uncomfortable.

  
  
Daenerys shifted in her seat of honor as she gazed upon the feast in her honor, doing her best not to focus to the man sitting to the right of her. _It has been nearly half a day and yet he’s not spoken a word, at least not to me._ It was unnerving, to say the least. Had she done something wrong? Had the Khal taken a disliking to her, for whatever reason?

  
_  
By all the gods, let it be dislike instead of anger._ Daenerys feared what the Dothraki might do to her should he become enraged.

  
  
Yet…

  
  
Daring a glance, the Targaryen princess turned ever-so-slightly to gaze at the Dothraki, who, by all accounts, was a strange man even amongst the horselords. That much she had been able to discern for herself when they had arrived at the Dothraki encampment outside the walls of Pentos, though instead of wearing their odd clothing as they had before, both the Khal, his maybe-brother, and the Dothraki Bloodriders had emerged from the main tent in resplendent robes. From the conversations Daenerys had been able to pick up from the Pentoshi nobles and courtiers that had followed them to the Dothraki encampment, said robes seemed to have been sewn with Yi-Tish silk, or at least in the style of the Yi-Tish, and that had taken her by surprise.

  
  
_Even I know the price of such silk, yet these horselords have such wealth that they can afford it? How much do the Free Cities bribe them to leave them be?_

  
  
Yet another mystery to solve about her husband-to-be. Daenerys filed it away for a later time, though, now that she thought of it, what did it matter? She would soon know regardless, would she not?

  
  
Daenerys was shaken out of her monotony by the sounds of footsteps growing closer, and she turned her attention to one of the guests, no doubt a friend or acquaintance of Illyrio’s. The guest bowed, holding out a gift in hand. “For the soon to be _khaleesi_ ,” the man announced. Daenerys did not move to take the gift, however, for one of her husband-to-be’s Bloodriders strode forward to take it himself, inspecting it for a moment (for what exactly Daenerys was unsure. Poison?) before placing it down with the many others that various courtiers and Pentoshi nobles had presented to her over the past few hours.

  
  
The gifts had done nothing to lift the emotionless expression of Khal Drogo’s face, who simply continued to sit there as he continued to survey the feast before him. Out of the corner of her eye, Daenerys could see her brother impatient whisper something to Illyrio, who made a calming gesture, though appeared somewhat surprised at something. _No doubt he wishes to discuss our return home._

  
  
Turning her gaze away from her brother, Daenerys eyes fell upon the Khal’s younger brother, who was easily conversing with some of the younger Bloodriders in the Dothraki delegation, every so often shooting a quick glance her way. The Targaryen princess felt the curiosity from before burning to the surface every time she noticed him watching her.

  
  
_What is it he wishes of me?_

_  
  
“Jadat, Jorah jin Andal.”_

  
  
Daenerys nearly jumped from her seat when Khal Drogo’s voice abruptly let itself be heard, and she found herself instinctively turning towards its source, only to be drawn to man who had just replied to the Khal.

  
  
_He is not of Essos. Is he Westerosi?_

  
  
The Westerosi man approached them, bowing his head in deference. “A small gift for the new _khaleesi_. Songs and histories of the Seven Kingdoms.”

  
  
Unlike the previous gifts, this one was handed straight to her, and Daenerys stared at the bindings of parchment that now sat in her lap in awe. _The histories of the Seven Kingdoms… In these books lie the deeds of my ancestors._ Looking back up to the man, Daenerys smiled genuinely for what felt like the first time that day. “Thank you, ser. Are you of my country? Are you Westerosi?”

  
  
The man smiled and seemed to stand taller. “That I am, _khaleesi_. Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island,” the knight introduced himself. “I served your father for many years.” Turning then to face Viserys, who had approached them upon seeing the Westerosi arrive, Jorah bowed his head again. “And, gods be good, I hope to serve the rightful King once again.”

  
  
At that, Viserys smirked, taking Ser Jorah’s hand in his and clasping the man’s shoulders. “I will not forget that once I reclaim my throne, Ser Jorah.”

  
  
“You have my thanks, King Viserys, and my loyalty,” the Mormont replied. “My family have faithfully served House Targaryen for generations, Your Grace. My grandfather, Jasper Mormont, was even a member of your grandfather Aegon’s Kingsguard.”

  
  
“Yes, he was, was he not?” Viserys mused. “Was he not known as the Great Bear?”

  
  
Jorah nodded. “Aye, that he was, Your Grace.”

  
  
It was here that Daenerys spoke up again. “He sounds like he was an interesting man. I would like to hear any stories about him, if you have any.” _I have heard far too few tales from the lands of our kingdom._

  
  
The Mormont knight nodded, then looked to the side. “But alas, another day, Princess. It appears there is another waiting to present you gifts.” With that, Jorah gave a departing nod to both Daenerys and the Khal next to her before stepping aside, making way for Illyrio to move forward. Behind the Magister were several servants carrying a large chest between them, and beckoning them forward, Illyrio had them place it before her. “A gift,” he smiled, “for the beautiful bride.”

  
  
Daenerys was, admittedly, intrigued. Was she not already wearing the Cheesemonger’s gift?

  
  
Her intrigue quickly faded into awe, however, when Illyrio had the chest opened to reveal what appeared to be three scaled, multicolored stones, their identities soon revealed by the Magister. “Dragon eggs, Daenerys, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai. The ages may have turned them to stone, but they will always be beautiful.”

  
  
_Beautiful they are,_ Daenerys admired, carefully picking one up to inspect. _It feels warm, and… familiar? As if it is calling to me._

  
  
She sat there in silence for several moments before suddenly remembering the Cheesmonger before her, and Daenerys shook her head slightly and looked up from the egg. “Thank you, Magister. They are as beautiful as you say.”

  
  
Daenerys slowly turned the egg in her hands, running her fingers along the ridges of its scales, enraptured. So focused on the egg was she, that the princess did not notice the Khal's brother approaching her, curiosity in his eyes as he to appraised the egg.

  
  
_“Zhavvorsa?”_

  
  
Blinking, she once again turned away from the egg to the glance at the Dothraki in front of her, only to freeze momentarily upon realizing it was the boy from earlier. “I-- I’m sorry, I don’t speak Dothraki,” she apologized quickly. “Do you speak the Common Tongue?”

  
  
What the boy would have said in response, Daenerys would never know, for Illyrio chose that time to emerge from his conversation with the Khal and turn to her. “I believe he is in awe of the eggs, Princess Daenerys. They are not something you see every day, after all,” he smirked. “Quite the expense to be sure.”

  
  
Nodding absently at the Magister’s response, she turned back to the boy, only to find he had apparently left her to her short conversation with Illyrio and had returned to the other Dothraki, grabbing a drink from a nearby slave. Sensing that there might never be a better time, she spoke once more. “Who is that boy, Magister? The one who road at the side of my-- my husband?”

  
  
“Aah. You speak of the _khalakka_?” Illyrio questioned. “His name is Müje. He is the eldest son of Khal Drogo. ”

  
  
The egg stopped moving in her hands, frozen, and Daenerys felt her stomach plummet. “His _son_? Khal Drogo has a _wife?!_ ”

  
  
The last word had almost been shouted, and Illyrio cast her a mildly concerned look. “Calm yourself, my lady. It is common for the Dothraki _khals_ to have more than one wife, but do not fear. The Khal will uphold the end of his bargain.”

  
  
But Daenerys was no longer truly paying attention, doing her best to avoid flinging herself at her brother’s feet and begging not to be married to the man next to her.

  
  
_Bad enough that I must marry him, but now to learn that I am to be a second wife? Does that not make me expendable? Lesser?_

_  
  
“Fin tat mae qafat?”_

  
  
This time, the deep voice of her husband-to-be _did_ cause Daenerys to jolt to the side, suddenly fearful, though thankfully, the words were not directed at her, but at Illyrio, who quickly responded. Khal Drogo was silent for a moment.

  
  
And then, to Daenerys’ shock, he chuckled, before replying something to the Cheesemonger that made Illyrio blink. The Magister stood still for a moment before turning to Daenerys, eyes filled with surprised confusion.

  
  
“...My apologies, Daenerys,” he spoke with a nonplussed frown, “It appears that I have been mistaken in several things.”

  
  
Danaerys turned to face Illyrio once more, chest filling with dread. “What do you mean by _mistaken,_ Magister?”

  
  
The Cheesemonger was silent for a moment, as if digesting what had recently been told to him, before replying, almost uncertainly. “Khal Drogo is not the one you will be marrying,” he announced, and both Daenerys and Viserys, who had been conversing with Ser Jorah, froze, though for different reasons.

  
  
_I-- I will not have to wed him?_

  
  
Viserys, in contrast to the relief she was feeling, was furious.

  
  
“ _What?!_ ” her brother hissed from the side before storming forward, eyes burning with sudden rage. “We had a _deal_ , Illyrio! My sister for his army! My sister is here, so I’ve kept to my end! Do you mean to say that Khal Drogo won’t?!”

  
  
“Khal Drogo will keep to his part of the bargain, my King, you need not worry,” Illyrio hurriedly soothed, but Daenerys was not so convinced.

  
  
“If I am not to wed the Khal,” she questioned, “then who?” _I do not think he will give Viserys an army for free..._

  
  
Before Illyrio could open his lips to answer her question, a commotion at the edge of the crowd caught all three’s attention, and Daenerys found her interest in the Magister’s words topped by the sight of the Khal Drogo’s _khalakka_ at the end of the clearing. The Dothraki boy ( _Müje is his name, was it not?_ ) sat atop the same steed Daenerys had seen him riding when she had first lain eyes on the Dothraki earlier that day, guiding his mount at a trot through the people, Dothraki and Pentoshi noble alike, another horse trailing behind.

  
  
Daenerys realized, with a start, that the Dothraki heir was riding towards her.

  
  
And as the _khalakka_ drew closer, it was then that Illyrio answered her, a knowing smile quickly overtaking his confused expression, as if the Magister had planned for this all along. “It was never the Khal you were going to marry, my dear.

  
It was the son.”  
  
  


* * *

  
Müje was nervous.

  
  
Granted, the _khalakka_ doubted even his father would deny that he had every right to be so-- he was, for the first time, about to present his (soon-to-be) wife her first steed. A nigh-sacred moment, for both him and her. Of course, his father had drilled him on how such an event would play out; Müje would temporarily leave the feast temporarily, mount his horse and grab the reigns of the one that would be gifted to his betrothed, and return present it to her. That was the way of the Dothraki. It was known.

  
  
_And yet..._

  
  
Maybe, if Müje had been given the opportunity to converse with his bride-to-be, he would not be feeling as anxious as he was now. While, yes, his father had reassured him that there was nothing to fear, how could he not?

  
_I’ve spoken not even two words to her, yet here I am._ The only thing soothing his anxiety was the fact that he would neither be wedding nor bedding the Valyrian girl until they return to Vaes Athjikhari, giving him much time to get to know his betrothed better-- and Müje planned to make the most of that.

  
  
So, the _khalakka_ shoved his troubled thoughts away and schooled his expression (a _khalakka’s_ weakness was tolerated little, even with all of his father’s changes to his _khalasars_ ) and brought himself before his betrothed, who stared at him in stupefaction, as if having suddenly realized something.

  
  
_Father must have corrected the Magister, then,_ Müje thought, before shrugging the thought away. If it was done, it was done, and it mattered little now.

  
  
For he had arrived.

  
  
Carefully dismounting his own horse, Müje tugged on the reins of the other that he had led here, and strode forward with a confidence he did not fully possess, walking forward until he came within an arms-reach of his bride-to-be, who had stood from her seat of honor and had descended from the dais.

  
  
Müje held out his hand, the one holding the reins to his betrothed ( _father said her name was Daenerys, did he not?_ ), and stood silent, waiting. Behind her, the _khalakka_ could see the other members the _khalasar_ stand from their own seats to get a look at the proceedings, and he spotted several of the younger ones (those that he knew personally, his future _kos_ ) send him sly grins, ribbing each other, and Müje bit back a smile of his own.

  
  
Then his gaze shifted to his father, who’s stoic visage remained unchanged, except for his eyes that revealed what Müje hoped was pride, something which was confirmed to him when his father gave him an subtle, approving nod, and Müje suddenly felt that faux-confidence become genuine.

  
  
The girl before him took a tentative step forward, bringing Müje’s eyes back to his betrothed, who stalled momentarily when she noticed his gaze on her once again, but to the _khalakka’s_ mild delight, Daenerys seemed to steel herself and move forward again, before slowly taking the outstretched reins.

  
  
Müje allowed himself to smile before stepping aside, letting Daenerys walk forward to gently stroke the horse’s silver mane.

  
“She’s beautiful,” Daenerys murmured, and Müje felt heartened by her words. His betrothed turned to the Westerosi knight, a question on her lips. “Ser Jorah, I… I don’t know how to say thank you in Dothraki.”

  
  
“There is no word for thank you in Dothraki, _khaleesi,_ ” the Westerosi name Jorah replied, and Müje found himself opening his mouth then to assure his betrothed that there was no need to have her words translated--

  
  
\--Only for his father to give him a pointed look that said _“not here,”_ and Müje nodded subtly. He knew not why it was so important to keep his knowledge of the Common Tongue hidden from the Pentoshi, but he trusted his Khal’s judgement. _Father has never led us astray._

  
  
So, remaining silent, the _khalakka_ moved forward again, this time taking Daenerys in his arms and boosting her onto her gift horse, to her surprise, before moving away to mount his own saddle. Out of the corner of his eye, Müje caught sight of his betrothed’s brother coming forward and grabbing a part of her dress, murmuring something that seemed to make Daenerys distressed, and Müje’s smile curdled slightly.

  
  
_Father told me to be wary of the Valyrian prince, and I think he was right to do so._ The look on the man’s face irked Müje somehow, though he could not place it. _He also said that he would deal with it, so I’ll trust he knows what he's doing_. His father's intuition had never failed him before, and the _khalakka_ doubted it would fail his Khal now.

  
  
Gesturing for Daenerys to follow, Müje whipped his reins and his steed began to trot, and a single glance behind told him that his betrothed was indeed following him, albeit somewhat apprehensively, and Müje shot her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. _I do not know you yet, but I wish to, should you let me._

  
  
His betrothed gave a smile then, and, heartened, Müje spurred his steed east with a grin, Danereys’ own silver mount keeping pace behind him.

  
  
The _khalakka_ had his bride.

  
  
It was time to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo ho, yo ho, to Vaes Dothrak we go~

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another plotbunny I was forced to put into text.


End file.
